Solipsism
by hikomokushi
Summary: But in the end, weren't all of them just as self-absorbed? Weren't they all willing to risk each other's happiness, for the sake maintaining their own? DracoHermione. Written for the 2009-2010 dmhgficexchange.
1. December 30th

**Title:** Solipsism.  
**Author/Artist:** Hiko Mokushi / **plural_entity**.  
**Rating:** R.  
**Warnings:** Language, drinking, sexuality. EWE, obviously.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Portions of the House described actually correlate to the layout of a home I've stayed at on Lake Erie, Ohio, called "The Rock of Ages."  
**Summary:** She hadn't thought of it this way. Harry's words took on a completely new meaning. Malfoy was both wrong and right, though she'd never admit it. She was self-absorbed. She wanted to be happy so bad that she begrudged everyone else their happiness because she hadn't found it. But in the end, weren't all of them just as self-absorbed? Weren't they all willing to risk each other's happiness, for the sake maintaining their own? _Written for the 2009-2010 **dmhgficexchange**._

**Notes:** I almost considered changing the name of this piece to "Murphy's Law," because that's sure as hell what happened. Everything that could go wrong, did. Thanks so much to the mods for dealing with all my problems every single time I had to ask for "like two more days." Thanks to my friend Domenic for reading this over when both of my betas seemingly bailed on me. **somandalicious**, I hope it's everything you wanted and so sorry for the lateness. This jumped from PG-13 to R without me really thinking about it..

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**Solipsism. **[noun.] /[ **sol**-ip-siz-_uh_m ]  
1. _Philosophy_. the theory that only the self exists, or can be proved to exist.  
2. extreme preoccupation with and indulgence of one's feelings, desires, etc.; egoistic self-absorption.

* * *

_Let the tide swallow me whole,  
Like morning light in windows.  
Let that dark water take me home.  
We set the wrong course and headed due north.  
That's where we went wrong.  
We were young and learning steady hearts hate turning.  
That's where we went wrong.  
- _The Hush Sound, "Where We Went Wrong."

* * *

**December 30th.**

She could smell the salt in the air before she'd fully Apparated and when she landed, it wasn't on solid ground. Sand gave way beneath her, pooling into her shoes and messing with her center of gravity. She landed hard on her butt, a few curling wisps of hair fluttering free. Rising shakily to her feet, she stood and rubbed her hand against the back of her jeans, across her butt. Her behind was coated with a fine layer of pale sand, and it made a gentle sifting sound as she wiped at it exasperatedly. She sighed, wiping her hands then against her knees, and bent at the waist to take hold of her bag, which she was sure had sand all over it as well.

"Nice arse."

Hermione spun, cheeks flushing as she clutched her bag to her pelvis defensively. However, when she turned, her gaze met a gentle pair of green eyes and a messy mop of inky black hair.

"Harry, don't be rude," she reprimanded sharply, cheeks still tinged pink though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Harry's grin was impish and seemed almost too youthful for his lined, too-worn face. Her eyes slid over him, his tired eyes, and his ashen features. He seemed to have lost weight since she last saw him, and the pale blue button-down shirt and khaki shorts he wore seemed a little _too_ loose. Their meeting reminded her strangely of seeing Lupin again after the two-year span since Third Year; her best friend was rapidly aging the same, only without the telltale werewolf scars.

"You look like death, are you alright? You are not sick, are you? Your letters always made it sound like everything was okay." She walked closer, gripped him on the side of the face hard with one hand while her other pressed flat against his forehead.

Harry shook his head, slapping her hands away in slight irritation. "Hey," he snapped back, "who's being rude now? You just said I look like shite. Do I tell you that you should wear your hair down or that you don't look good with sand on your arse?"

He sounded angry, lips twisted in a grimace, but the playfulness never left his lively eyes. Hermione laughed deeply, throwing back her head as she gently slapped his cheek. He pretended to wince, covering the spot with his hand. "Jesus, 'Mione, what are they teaching you at that school of yours? How to slap someone and break their face? Are you sure you didn't shatter my cheekbone? You're not a woman anymore, you're a beast. I think it's time you stop educationing yourself and you come work for me. Too much information and your head will explode. That or blow up like a bloody great balloon."

"Wuss." She laughed again. "It's a defense mechanism. Keeps all the little perverts away. But while we're talking about how gross each other looks, will you at least assure me Ginny's bought a bathing suit that covers all her bits and pieces? I will charm her into a wetsuit. Your girlfriend needs to learn some modesty."

"Nice change of subject," grumbled Harry, rolling his eyes slightly. "I'll let you slide for now, but we are going to have a talk about that later. In defense of my girlfriend, she'd say you need to learn to not be a prude. But I mean really, a wetsuit would probably be just as bad—they're skin tight."

Harry coughed slightly at the purse Hermione's lips had taken on and decided to reach for her bag. "But let's get moving onto the house; nearly everybody arrived at the beginning of the week. Really, you missed half the fun, Hermione," he joked sarcastically, making a face as she finally relinquished hold of her bag. "Pansy had everybody sunbathing, because she wants all of us to look tan for her pictures. Luna rather discouraged her by talking about sand lice. For once was actually talking sense about something and I couldn't bring myself to lie just to make Pansy feel better. Luna has to get discouraged with all of our disbelief."

That brought a smile back to the brunette witch's face, and she took off her loafers, stuffing her socks inside them so she could walk barefoot through the sand. "I would almost pay to see that," she chuckled. "I bet she went and showered right afterwards."

"Of course."

Hermione could just make out the large house further up the beach, and she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare off the sand. The house was large by beach house standards, at least all the ones she had stayed in over the years; it certainly looked old and worn though. It was mostly white and pale brown, with what looked like three stories, six balconies, and a large, wrap-around porch. It huddled, half-hidden against a small forest of bushes and trees.

The island was only one of many privately owned islands in the area. It was so private and so small an island in fact; it had only the one house and a large stable on the southern side. It didn't even have an official name. It could never be found on any map, didn't respond to locator spells, and had so many illusionment charms, it was practically invisible. For the exceptionally strong-willed and determined, redirection wards would keep any unwanted visitors from getting too close. The island was small, a tiny blip amongst others in the middle of North Atlantic Ocean. The famed paranormal hotspot nearly all Muggles knew, turned out to be nothing more than a Wizarding vacation spot. One thing she had not expected to feel was wonder, but even after all this time, Wizards still had a way of surprising her.

"It sure is beautiful here," she murmured, taking in the unusually clean beach, clear blue water, and cloudless skies.

Harry nodded, matching her smaller gait with practiced ease. "I wasn't sure it was a good idea at first, you know," he admitted sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. "You hear some odd stuff about this place. I was expecting to get abducted by aliens."

Hermione laughed, kicking a little sand at him. "Most of those stories about the Bermuda Triangle are easily explained though, if a lot of Wizarding families are coming to the islands. All those spells and charms to keep Muggles away. It's easy to explain even when not considering magical interference. If you were so nervous, you should have just done some research on it. I mean, you do know how to use a library."

"I'm going to ignore you even said that," Harry muttered under his breath, hefting her bag into his other hand and then over his shoulder. "But ignoring my fears of alien abduction, where's Blaise? You're always late, but Blaise is normally the first to shirk his Williams-inian duties."

"I take offense to that. I can shirk my duties." At Harry's bemused expression, her face hardened. "_I can shirk my duties_."

Harry nodded. "Sure, Hermione. What are you doing now, at Williams? You always say you are _so busy_, but it's not like I ever hear about anything going on. You're so far away. But Blaise, love, Blaise. Where is my big cocoa-mocha chocolate man?"

"I'm focused on poisons at the moment. Discovering different antidotes, easy ways to diagnose and such. I like America. It's... different." Hermione's eyes focused on the beach beneath her and she absently flicked a shell out of her path with her big toe. "Does Blaise get offended at that nickname? It's like... a hop, skip and a jump away from being racist."

"No, it's a term of endearment, affection. I call him that out of love. Like how Ron calls Malfoy a motherfucker and Draco calls him a fuckshit."

Hermione let out a short bark of laughter as she tossed her head back, letting the wind blow her bangs away from her face. "Well, that's the reason he's late."

Harry stiffened beside her and she kept walking. It took her a couple of minutes before she realized that he had slowed to a complete stop, his feet sinking into the sand. Hermione turned around and lifted a hand to her face, shielding her narrowed eyes as she examined his face.

She shifted back and forth, the sand hot beneath her feet. "Oh, come on, it's not that big of a deal, Harry. You can't blame him for being bitter."

"I can blame him for whatever I want." Harry pouted before he started walking again. He lifted a hand as they neared the house and pointed out one of the six balconies. Two were in the facing the closest part of the beach, two in the back, and one on either side. "You're the room in the front to the right."

When his hand dropped back to his side, he reached for hers and she slipped her fingers between his. They swung their clasped hands back and forth in the space between them. "I'm just going to have to listen to him go on about liars and cheaters and how _he's_ never cheated on a girlfriend. You know I feel horrible about it, I don't like being reminded of it, and that's all he's going to do. How long am I going to be stuck in the same house as him? Having him in the Ministry is bad enough."

"You never see him in the Ministry, Harry. But really, it happened—it happened not only once, it happened twice—so just deal with it. Let's not be immature about this."

"I'm not immature, so stop being a boob."

She grinned and bumped her hip against his. "Real mature."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"I could kick you in the balls?" she said, though it came out more as a question.

"Harsh, 'Mione. Harsh."

Hermione smiled, glad the momentary irritation had faded easily. All joking and teasing aside, it was nice that she could do this. A few terse moments and instantly they weren't the Minister of Magic and Potions researcher, they were just Harry and Hermione, best friends who hadn't seen each other in months. It was so easy for the two of them to fall back into the same familiar roles they'd always had, it made her wonder why they'd never made it. They seemed so perfect... Even Ron had given them his blessing. It wasn't fair, she decided, as she watched the man beside her in the sun. They had grown up too fast. Or maybe they hadn't grown up enough. Maybe if they had had a proper childhood they would have done all right, but none of them had been able to make it work properly yet.

And it wasn't just her and Harry. None of them had gotten it right yet. Unless you counted Ron's odd marriage as _right._

She also wondered if it would have worked out with Ron. If she'd never been disloyal, if it might have worked. He had always said he thanked Harry for the little betrayal, but she wasn't so sure. Their friendship had been more important than a random relationship, but they had never been the same since then. The two of them walked the rest of the way in quiet, comfortable silence.

**

* * *

**

"Hermione, you're here!" Hermione smiled as Ginny frantically waved to them from the porch front, arm stretched high over her head. "Guys!" she called, "Hermione's here!"

In the second when Ginny turned her head to look into the house, Harry casually slid his hand from her grasp, flexing it slightly before slipping it into the pocket of his shorts. Hermione frowned but did not comment, and allowed her arm to hang limply at her side, noticeably cooler in the breeze without the warmth of Harry's palm. Shaking her head slightly, Hermione followed Harry up the tiny staircase onto the wooden porch. It creaked beneath their feet, the wood warped and stained with age and wear. It made the house looked lived in and welcoming, which was the exact opposite of what she felt from the other woman's gaze.

Ginny smiled widely though, snagging Hermione by the shoulders and gripping her in a tight hug. Hermione had only time enough to pat the woman on the back before Ginny jumped back to Harry's side. "We were wondering what was taking you so long. Ron and George wanted to get supper ready, but Pansy is making them wait to use the grill until you were back. She seems to think they'll burn down the island."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly as Ginny's hand firmly clasped with Harry's, almost exactly as she had done moments ago. The only difference was the pressure of grips—Hermione's hold had been loose and friendly. Not even five minutes, and the redhead was already getting territorial. There was no question, Ginny Weasley had never forgiven Hermione for her part in Harry's betrayal, and she was vengeful enough that she would make Harry pay for his disloyalty as long as he was with her.

Harry sat her bag on the ground, wincing. Gazing at her pointedly over Ginny's head, he mouthed a silent apology, before kissing his girlfriend on the forehead. "Sweetheart, don't get angry, but Hermione said we may have an extra guest," he started out quietly, before Ginny interrupted him.

"He's already here," she grumbled, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. "Insufferable ass, he and Blaise showed up about two minutes after you left down the beach. They've apparently been here before," she added, looking irritated. "With Pansy. They Apparated right into the middle of the kitchen. Luna accidentally dropped a plate on Blaise's toe. But it's okay, I guess. We'll keep busy."

She fluttered her lashes suggestively and smiled coyly, letting go of his hand to tug at the bottom of his sleeve. Her brown eyes were lined heavily with black and lashes lengthened with mascara, Hermione noticed. It must have been something new, because the Ginny she used to know never wore makeup, let alone needed it. But to Hermione's surprise, the woman was dressed both conservatively and casually, with straight-leg jeans and a simple t-shirt. Years ago, she would have been sporting a revealing halter and a skirt that ended shortly after it began. To top it off, Ginny had done something with her hair, but whether it was a new cut or highlights, its escaped Hermione.

She felt somewhat awkward now, standing out here on the porch with two people that she used to know as well as herself. As easily as she could get along with Harry, she knew that they were no longer the best friends they used to be. Time and distance had seen to that. It had not helped that forming relationships with people had never been her strong point. They could last near a decade, but their depth and loyalty wavered.

Lasting, but weak.

The look Harry gave Ginny was one that, despite their short fling, Hermione had never been on the receiving end of. Retrieving her bag from around Harry, she quietly let herself into the house.

The door opened into the basement, which contained little more than random cupboard and a pool table, with a set of stairs leading upwards to the left. Hermione followed them and entered what appeared to be a series of would-be rooms all open to each other. To the right were a couple of circular tables with chairs and a large black, grand piano. In front of her, there were half a dozen lounge chairs facing a couple large, floor-to-ceiling windows. To her left was a large kitchen, with four sets of sinks—two on an island in the middle of kitchen—and another, smaller countertop island. Two large wooden tables with benches lined the wall opposite the kitchen.

"Uhm... Hello?" she asked loudly, setting her bag on the ground and continuing to walk further into the house. There was no way in hell that she was going to walk back out onto the porch with Harry and Ginny. Ginny might look different, but she'd still have her hand down Harry's pants faster than you could say _Who's your kitty?_ A door across from her let out onto the back patio, but she couldn't see anyone through the glass, so she could only assume everyone had decided to Apparate off the island or they were playing a _very_ good game of hide and seek.

A series of loud thuds caused her to jump, spinning around and clutching a hand to her throat. Beady, brown-black eyes met her gaze as she peered at the black boy, sprawled at the foot of the staircase. He smiled widely, white teeth bright against the dark skin of his face. His eyes were glassy, his smile just a little too big; she doubted he even realized that he'd just fallen down the stairs. "Hermione!" he exclaimed, not moving from where he lay as he reached for her, like a child wishing to be picked up.

"Blaise, what the hell?" she gasped, kneeling to see if he was all right. His fingers brushed her face and she gripped him by his wrists. "It's not even six, and you're sloshed already?"

The stairs above her creaked slightly and with a tiny rustle, she heard a quiet voice. "Hello, Granger."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she looked up, gracing the man with a half-glower. She had not seen him in over a year, longer than her absence from Ron or Harry—she had seen them back at break before summer session. For the most part, he still looked the same as she remembered. Standing at nearly six feet, he was possibly longer and lankier than he had been at Hogwarts. His face had grown less pointed, but strong cheekbones made his appear hollow and sometimes even gaunt in the right light. Silky blond hair framed his face with messy casualness, pieces haphazardly falling into his line of sight.

"Malfoy," she hissed, "did you push Blaise down the stairs?"

"No, Granger," he sighed boredly, glancing down at her from over the cell phone he held sideways in his hands. He smirked with the corner of his mouth. "He did that well enough on his own. I'm just attempting to beat this infernal contraption you call a game. It seems impossible. I've even been in one of these... _deathtraps_ your people deem worthy enough to call a mode of transportation."

"_My people_?" Hermione bristled as she helped lift Blaise to his feet. She swayed slightly under his dead weight, face reddening.

He reached the bottom of the stairs after a slow descent and gave her a grin that she could only call a sneer. "As long as you continue to get offended, I'm going to make my normal, scathing remarks on the idiocy of Muggle culture. Let me get him," he said as she struggled to control the anger swelling inside her and her on Blaise. "You already won the war, Granger. Allow me some prejudices."

She followed almost obediently as Malfoy led Blaise to a couch in the room on the other side of the stairs. "Prejudices are wrong," said Hermione, sitting down next to Blaise, her hand smoothing across his forehead.

"So are grudges. I guess we're even."

Malfoy walked swiftly away—into the kitchen—leaving Hermione to flush silently. She pushed Blaise into a comfortable position while the man babbled and played with her hair. Being around Malfoy was as awkward as being around Harry and Ginny, if not more. The two of them were the ones left over, besides Luna. Luna could have cared less for relationships, and Luna held no bitterness toward Harry, but Malfoy... He was an entirely different story. Just being around Harry made him furious. She supposed the only reason he was even here was because there would be drinking. Harry had seen fit to give all the Ministry workers off for New Year's, so she was sure he'd either be here or at his apartment with a bottle of whiskey. Or, if not alone, with a hooker. It was public knowledge that the boy Malfoy did not have relationships, not since the stunning betrayal of Ginevra Weasley.

Malfoy walked calmly back into the room and handed her a small, smoking vial. She glanced up and shook her head before accepting it. "Come on, Blaise, open up," she instructed, tiling back his head to pour the vial's contents slowly down the man's throat. She rubbed at the front of his throat gently. When he swallowed it all, she sighed and handed the empty vial back to Malfoy. "I have no reason to hold a grudge against you, Malfoy."

"No," he agreed. "You hold it against Ginny."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but a loud groan from her side distracted her. Blaise sat up, hand on his head and frown on his face. "Draco, you arse," he swore, glancing up through narrowed eyed. "I said no sobering potion."

"Sorry, mate. Pansy will kill you if you're drunk before supper." Malfoy smirked and held the cell phone out to the black man. "And that game is a piece of shite. Never convince me to play it again."

Hermione glanced away, furious at herself for allowing Malfoy to get a rise out of her. The slam of a door and sudden chatter announced that Harry and Ginny had resurfaced for air and they were not alone. Recognizing both Pansy and Luna's voices, Hermione smiled and leaned around, waving.

Pansy smiled back at her, glancing them all over before she leaned down to give Hermione a one-armed hug. The rest followed behind, Luna's wide, friendly smile brightening her face. Even Ginny did not look so annoyed anymore.

"Good to see you're keeping them in line, Granger. We'll need that Gryffindor mothering spirit of yours come tomorrow evening. I don't want anything in this house broken or vomited on." Hermione grinned ruefully, watching the boys grimace. "I thought you were going to bring Donovan, though?"

Hermione pursed her lips, a tiny frown tugging the corner of one side down. "No, he couldn't come this year," she explained haltingly, accepting the glass that Luna passed to her over Blaise's head. The man had pointedly monopolized Malfoy's attention and proceeded to explain animatedly how to drive a cell phone car properly.

Malfoy leaned into the sun; he blocked the glare and threw her into shadow. "He had some business at Williams to take care of before he could celebrate. So he decided to visit his sister in Michigan. He said he wanted to see the New Year in with snow, not sand."

Harry shook his head, expression mocking. "Crazy bloke. Who doesn't want to spend New Year's getting drunk on a beach?"

"It's a bloody shame," came Malfoy's quiet acknowledgement from her right. She glanced away to avoid his gaze, sure that his eyes would be focused on her.

"More alcohol for me," Blaise said smugly, bopping Malfoy on the head and getting a laugh out of everyone, including herself.

Pansy chuckled, walking toward the kitchen. "Well, you're staying sober until after supper," she growled, fixing the man with a furious glare. "We only have three bathrooms. Three toilets don't satisfy nine people, and I refuse to cook a meal merely for everyone to throw it back up later."

Blaise stuck his tongue out, muttering ignorantly as she got off the couch and stalked past her. "Party pussy."

"You're not making supper," protested Harry, playing with Ginny's hair. "I am. None of you know how to use the grill."

Pansy glared at him and made a show of mimicking Blaise's muttering. Hermione smiled and got to her feet, lacing arms with Luna to follow the other girl into the kitchen. She smiled at Malfoy as they past him, not all too surprised that he did not return it.

* * *

_to be continued.._


	2. December 31st

**Title:** Solipsism.  
**Author/Artist:** Hiko Mokushi / **plural_entity**.  
**Rating:** R.  
**Warnings:** Language, drinking, sexuality. EWE, obviously.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Portions of the House described actually correlate to the layout of a home I've stayed at on Lake Erie, Ohio, called "The Rock of Ages."  
**Summary:** She hadn't thought of it this way. Harry's words took on a completely new meaning. Malfoy was both wrong and right, though she'd never admit it. She was self-absorbed. She wanted to be happy so bad that she begrudged everyone else their happiness because she hadn't found it. But in the end, weren't all of them just as self-absorbed? Weren't they all willing to risk each other's happiness, for the sake maintaining their own? _Written for the 2009-2010 **dmhgficexchange**._

**Notes:** I almost considered changing the name of this piece to "Murphy's Law," because that's sure as hell what happened. Everything that could go wrong, did. Thanks so much to the mods for dealing with all my problems every single time I had to ask for "like two more days." Thanks to my friend Domenic for reading this over when both of my betas seemingly bailed on me. **somandalicious**, I hope it's everything you wanted and so sorry for the lateness. This jumped from PG-13 to R without me really thinking about it..

**

* * *

**

**December 31st.**

Grilling had not worked out after all, and some time later, Ron and Blaise returned with a large bag of Chinese takeout. Pansy had not been happy, but as she didn't know how to properly work a grill either, her grumblings were made mostly under breath. They talked themselves well into midnight and after, merely catching up on everything that had gone on throughout their friends' absences.

Hermione couldn't help but reflect on their the seriousness of their conversations compared to the immaturity of their actions. Whether they were children forced to grow up too fast or adults who could not help but rebel against the responsibilities their lives entailed, she didn't know. They were half deathly serious and half immature fools.

The group questioned Hermione and Blaise on their work at Williams'. Like Harry earlier, they tried badgering them unashamedly into coming home. Hermione explained that, alongside Donovan, her work with finding antidotes to age-old poisons was flourishing. Blaise, more than slightly gone, had declared he was there to make sure Hermione did not die of overwork or allow herself to be knocked up by some American.

Hermione laughed along with them, but found it was harder than she remembered to pretend at humor.

Harry and Ron were busy in the Ministry mainframe as Minster and Auror. Malfoy had opted to take a new job that kept him as far away as possible from "St Potter" and remain in the same building—retreating into the bowls of the Ministry underbelly. He was not an Unspeakable, but as Harry did not elaborate Malfoy's work, Hermione figured it was probably something just as under-wraps. George stated that Ron had been helping him in his off hours to develop some new creations for the joke shop, which he would gladly demonstrate tomorrow evening. Luna had been studying in Southern Africa, but on what, Hermione still wasn't sure. Ginny was still with the Harpies, though Harry was attempting to convince her to retire. Pansy was enjoying being the homemaker she always wished to be and blushingly admitted—while clasping hands with Ron—that they were planning to start trying to have kids.

It wasn't until three that Ginny managed to drag Harry upstairs to the bedroom they shared. George went after them, chuckling about how he had the room furthest away from the excitable pair. Luna followed a half hour after, yawning. Ron helped Pansy up the stairs around four, while Hermione and Blaise heckled them good-naturedly about their pace. There were only six bedrooms, and as the odd-man out, Malfoy had grudgingly accepted a pillow and blanket to make a bed on the couch. Hermione snidely remarked that the couch was real leather and expensive, so he should be fine with sleeping on it.

Only when she was sure everyone seemed to slumber in his or her rooms, did she risk leaving hers.

She tiptoed past a slumbering Malfoy to walk swiftly out onto the back deck, remove her shoes, and then proceed onto the beach. She walked as far down as the shoreline, where the receding tide could wash up onto her feet. She sat far enough back that with her legs stretched out before her, only her toes were touched. The sky had begun to lighten on the horizon, going from black to a paler bluish black. Leaning onto her back, she lifted the lighter to her lips and lit the cigarette. It glared red in front of her face as she took a deep breath and then exhaled, letting her arm fall carefully to her side. The sand was stiff, but comfortable, fitting neatly to the curves of her body. She closed her eyes and sighed, rolling the cigarette between her fingers.

"Can I borrow your light?"

Hermione sighed loudly and lifted the lighter straight up into the air over her head. Malfoy snatched it from her, fingertips brushing, and she shivered against a sudden chill. "Did you shove your hands in ice?"

She heard the inhale more than the exhale, but saw the smoke waft in the breeze above her. Malfoy's feet were planted on either side of her head, so close she could practically reach out her hand and wrap her fingers around his ankle.

"Bad circulation," he explained eventually, handing her back her lighter before lapsing into silence.

Hermione took another drag on her cigarette, allowing the burn to permeate her throat, relishing the tingle on her lips and tongue. It was a bad habit, she knew, but not as bad as some others she could have. For a few years after the war, Harry could barely function normally without antidepressants. Pansy and Ron's relationship had started out when they'd jumped into bed after both of them had taken ecstasy at a party. Everybody knew Malfoy and Blaise were closet alcoholics. But they were all smart enough to keep their problems from affecting everyday life, so it all went pretty ignored.

It wasn't so bad being around him, she though. At least when they weren't being snarky with each other.

Almost as if he read her mind, Malfoy cleared his throat. She frowned and opened her eyes, glancing upwards at him. He did not look at her, merely exhaled once more. "So why do you lie to them?"

"I do not lie to them," argued Hermione, pushing herself up onto her elbows and glancing over her shoulder at him.

He made a face, sneering, and scoffed. "Oh, do too. Don't try to lie your way out of this, sweetheart. I am better at it than you are. They may not see through you, but I do. So why. Do. You lie?"

Hermione licked the corner of her lips, giving into the flaring urge to protest. Then she chuckled, brought the cigarette to her lips again, and took a long, hard drag. She smiled as she exhaled through her nose. It burned slightly, but ever since she had seen her aunt look like a bull while smoking a cigarette when she was eight, she thought it looked hardcore. "Because they don't need to question me on why I didn't bring my boyfriend to the party," she said after a pause.

Malfoy laughed aloud and lobbed the butt into ocean. "I was actually talking about the smoking. But if you want me to start in on _that_ part of your lying, then we need to get something straight." He leaned down, resting on the balls of his feet so he did not have to look completely down at her. "I said, don't lie to me."

"I am not lying!" she exclaimed.

"Your colleague boyfriend isn't your colleague boyfriend." The bastard had the audacity to smile at her, silver eyes sparkling in the low light. His hair even shone in the light from the rising moon. "Now why are you leading to believe you're still dating him?"

"Why do you down shots of hard liquor like soda?"

"Because I'm sad and lonely." He tilted his head to the side and smiled again. It was starting to creep her out. The Malfoy she was used to normally had a sneer on his lips. "My girlfriend cheated on me, you know. With your boyfriend."

Hermione glanced away, biting on her bottom lip.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply through her nose and put her cigarette out in the sand. She tossed it in the direction of the ocean, unable to find it in her to care about littering. _Ten, nine, eight.._ Malfoy poked her hard in the shoulder and her eyes snapped open. She slapped at his shoulder. "Hey, ass, don't touch me." He frowned at her and she folded her arms across her chest. "Besides, Harry wasn't my boyfriend."

"You're talking like an American, it's insulting," he sneered, more like the Malfoy she knew. "No, but you were fucking him. I don't get the whole cheating thing. What was the difference between the Weasel and Potter, besides the general tone of their voice during sex? You never had sex with the lights on, so you weren't looking at them."

"How do you know..?"

"I get drunk with Pansy, who gets drunk with her husband. I know a lot I did not ever really want to know. Nevertheless, answer the question. Why cheat on Ron with Harry?"

"I'm done with this conversation."

Hermione rose shakily to her feet, brushing sand off her legs and behind, then her arms and hands.

Malfoy stared up at her from his squatted position, held tilted to the side and expression closed as she walked away from him—but not ignorantly so. He patiently observed her, before shaking his head. "Go ahead," he said, rising to his feet. "Walk away. Ignore and walk away from all the problems you cannot solve with a smile and a hug. Avoid all the hard answers. It's what you always do."

Hermione stopped, mouth open in blatant indignation. _"Excuse me?"_ she whispered.

"Oh, don't patronize me, Granger," he snapped, good old Malfoy temper flared up as he stalked towards her. His cologne washed over her and close proximity reminded Hermione that she had been attempting to storm away furiously. She went to turn away, but he grabbed her by the arm. She glanced angrily down at his hand before back at his face.

"_You _cheated on your boyfriend of three years because you weren't happy with your relationship. Potter cheated on _his_ girlfriend of four years because Ginny made him _crazy_. You both thought that you'd be happier with each other." His eyes narrowed and he shook his head, sighing quietly. "And then you realized that you made _each other_ crazy. You broke up willingly, it was an agreement, but when Potter immediately hooked up with the walking whimsy, you ran scared at the first opportunity. Now things haven't worked out with that American bloke, and seeing Ginny and Potter together just makes. You. Crazy."

She snorted and tugged her arm away angrily; face flushing in the low light. "And you know this how? You've suddenly become psychic?" Her tone took on a mocking tone. "Or are you just recounting your own sob sorry?"

Malfoy's mouth set into a hard line.

Hermione laughed, smiling gleefully. "That's it, isn't it? You want to not feel so alone or pathetic that you feel alone or feel like you can relate to someone. Whatever it is you want, you're trying to force your own feelings onto me." She poked at his chest with one hand, while she pushed her hair back with the other. "I'm going to tell you one thing: _stop_."

"I'm a miserable excuse for a human being, but at least I'm honest about it." Malfoy let go of her arm, pushing her away lightly. He shook his head and turned around. She watched him shove his hands into his pants pockets, staring out at the waves. "At least I don't sugarcoat myself and attempt to make everyone think I'm happy when I'm not. I don't hate your St Potter, I don't hate Ginny. I'm just bitter that I'm the one left out in the cold." He glanced over his shoulder at her and shook his head again. "You may not hate her, but you begrudge her happiness. You're not happy and you think she doesn't deserve to be happy."

She went to open her mouth to say something else, but Malfoy snapped, "Good night, Granger."

After getting her shoes from the porch and retreating to the safety of her room, the sky had begun to lighten and her eyelids began to droop. However, the sleep was hard to come by.

**

* * *

**

It was the first time Hermione had actually slept past noon in nearly four years.

However, she had not gone to bed until nearly six in the morning, but it was still something she had not done in years. Back at Hogwarts, she would have never allowed herself an all-nighter like many of the other students did. She needed her sleep. Not beauty sleep, but her body required a tremendous amount of sleep to keep performing at tiptop shape. When she was not keeping Ron and Harry from failing and trying to stay alive, she had slept away much of her free time during school, especially third year—running and skipping through time.

It had taken nearly an hour for her to fall asleep and when she had finally fallen asleep, it had been restless and unfulfilling. She'd woken at least five times and it had taken more than a few minutes to fall into unconsciousness again.

At half-past three, she stumbled out of bed still half-asleep and made her way into her adjoining shower. Under the heat and pressure from the water, she washed away the sand that had accumulated on her skin. Watching the way her arms and legs reddened, she rubbed at her elbows and knees, the back of her neck. Malfoy's words lingered in the back of her mind like a bad hangover, and she wished that his dirty accusations could merely be washed off her with water and soap. But they lingered, and by the time she pulled herself out from under the steaming water and into a warm, fluffy towel, she was more than prepared to find the nearest bottle of vodka when she got downstairs.

She dressed hurried, not bothering to pay attention to what she grabbed. Just before leaving her room, she glanced in the mirror provided and wrinkled her nose at what she saw. White-wash jean shorts left her still-red legs bare from mid-thigh down, and her brown tank-top was pretty, but the lacy pattern across her chest was cut high and made her feel immature. As an afterthought, she rifled through her bag for the pale pink cardigan she had packed for the beach's breezy evenings and slung her arms into it, slipping her feet into a pair of sandals.

Hermione took the stairs two at a time, for the first time feeling glad that she came when Pansy looked up from a large paper sack and smiled warmly at her.

"There's some grapes and cheese over there if you're hungry, sleepyhead," the other woman joked, nodding her head to the side. "The boys may have even left you a cracker crumb or two." Hermione glanced in the general direction and saw a large platter with green and purple grapes, as well as an assortment of different cheeses. There were a few remaining broken pieces of crackers mixed in with the cheeses as well.

"Thanks." Hermione propped herself up on the table's edge to watch as Pansy began removing bottles of alcohol from three large brown bags on the countertop. "Where is everybody? I was expecting to be woken up by some loud, obnoxious yelling or lovemaking this morning. It's kind of creepy in here when it's so quiet." She glanced pointedly towards the sofa-room, but the blond-haired man was no way in sight. The only trace amount of evidence left behind was the blanket and pillow they'd given him last night, perched neatly on the sofa arm.

"Harry, Ron and Blaise are outside trying to set up this really queer table the "old fashioned way." The woman made quotes in the air with her fingers, catching a bottle before it fell off the shelf. "Luna is... somewhere. She said she was going for a walk on the beach, and has been gone for about two hours. George made a fire pit. I think he might still be outside mocking the lot of them. We're supposed to have a firework show at midnight." Hermione could see her tentativeness as the black-haired woman glanced at her sidelong. "Draco left sometime this morning. I'm not quite sure where he went."

Hermione avoided her gaze. "So... Do you think the boys are going to try for alcohol-induced coma or something?"

Pansy smirked, glancing at the bottles' labels before she proceeded to open the cabinet doors above her head and pile in the alcohol. "Old superstition," she explained, with a little shrug of her shoulders. "My mum used to say it was bad luck to leave cupboards empty on New Year's. Mum's fairly daft most of the time, but I'd feel guilty if I didn't carry on the tradition. Even my brothers do it to keep her happy." Snatching two plastic cups from the side cupboard, she held up an already open Swallowtail by the neck and shook it gently in my direction.

"Keeping your cabinets full of alcohol," she mused, accepting the cup from Pansy. "Makes your mother proud, I guess."

"Trust me," scoffed Pansy as she poured a liberal amount into Hermione's cup, "she probably would be proud."

Hermione chuckled. After Pansy had poured herself some wine, Hermione lifted her cup into the air and announced loudly, "To New Year's, though It's not here yet. Perhaps tonight won't be so miserable and this New Year will be a lot more enjoyable than the last."

They both drank and Pansy shook her head. "You would make such a pessimistic toast. It's a new year, you'll be amongst friends, you'll be _drunk_." She waggled her dark eyebrows suggestively and sipped lightly. "As long as you don't try drowning Draco in the ocean, I'd say it'd be a successful evening. And your year would be better if you just moved back home."

Hermione scoffed and drank some more. "And what would that accomplish, O Wise One?" she said after she'd swallowed, wiping at a spot on her chin where it dribbled down. "I've got a fine job, decent pay, nice lodgings. I'm making a difference in the world, like I always wanted to. I have Blaise there for company and Donovan there for my bed, so what does moving home matter. Work under Harry or Ron? Get a fellowship at the Joke shop? I'm fine where I'm at and I'm sick of people telling me that I'd be happier somewhere else." She took the rest of her wine in a single gulp, pressing her fingers to her mouth in an attempt to halt a burp.

Pansy smacked her lips slightly as she wet them. The hand that held her cup wavered back in forth, floating as close as her chin, but never any closer. "I just think you'd be happier. I don't know what you'd do, Hermione, just that you'd be here." Her tongue moved over her teeth behind her closed mouth in thought. "Draco says you're not with Donovan anymore," she said finally, with an air of getting the worst of it over.

Hermione wasn't sure if the look on the other woman's face was merely expectative or bracing. Hermione had been the author of a few amazing blowouts and Pansy had been around for a few of them. There was a difference between angering Hermione and detonating Hermione, as Ron phrased it. And at the moment, even Pansy knew that Hermione was as dangerous as a live grenade with the pin pulled, and now Pansy had to hold it. Her explosion would decimate everything and leave nothing but radioactive waste in its wake. Pansy bit her lip as she observed her friend carefully, timing the bomb.

But Hermione closed her eyes and blew out slowly. She counted one, skipped two, three, four and all the rest—moving straight on to ten. But this was her friend, and Pansy was only looking out for her. The woman did not deserve and verbal lashing for merely attempting to find out some information she'd should have already known.

"No," said Hermione eventually. "No, Donovan and I are no longer together."

Pansy physically coloured and let out a breath she had been holding. "How long?"

Hermione shrugged and offered her cup. Pansy poured her another cupful. "About six months. It just wasn't working out. We're still friends and everything, but I don't think Donovan every got used to dating the _famous_ Hermione Granger."

"What a bastard." Pansy drained her cup. "So... Do you really have a grudge against Ginny?"

"Oh, _Malfoy._" Of course, he would divulge all his little lies on Parkinson. She was the person he was closest to and the only person who would actually confront her on his opinions. Hermione smacked her lips together as she finished the cup. She peered into it with narrowed eyes, clicking her teeth together. She glanced back up at her friend and smiled. "I definitely need something stronger than wine."

* * *

_I should have done this a long time ago_. Hermione wrapped her arm around Blaise's head, grinning from ear to ear. She and Pansy had calmed down their drinking for long enough to be able to properly handle a fork, but they had started right up again after filling their stomachs with enough food to keep from vomiting later. To her surprise, but not shock, Malfoy did not return for supper. He had yet to return, and Hermione wasn't sure if he actually would. Malfoy loved to sow conflict, but he hated hanging around to deal with the after effects. He would cause as many problems as he could and hit the road before anybody could even lash back.

Part of her wondered if she should feel bad.

Another part said that if he was going to be such a big _baby_ about everything, he could take his stupid, sarcastic, rude, prejudiced, ignorant... remarks elsewhere.

Sometime around her fifth shot—of what, she was not certain—she'd made a grand show of plopping down onto the sofa, knocking the folded blanket they'd provided for Malfoy's bed, and promptly sat on his pillow. If he wasn't coming back to use it, she was going to. She realized sometime between seven and nine o'clock that the immaturity she had lacked as a teenager emerged from hiding when drunk. And Hermione Granger wasn't just drunk, she was absolutely _wasted_.

She couldn't exactly remember when she and Pansy had gone from tipsy to vulgar, but she was sure that the story would be recounted for them during their hangover period. It was easy for the pair to see that their antics weren't exactly considerate towards the other guests, but if any of the others were bothered, they said nothing. Hermione, even in her inebriated state, could tell they were getting annoying. Harry looked slightly displeased, Ron merely complacent. However, as they neared midnight, and Hermione informed Ginny that she was glad to see the girl dressed properly and not like a prostitute, Harry tugged her into the kitchen.

"Okay, you're done." He took her glass and dumped it down the drain, frown wrinkling his brow.

Hermione pouted, something she would have never done sober. "Unfair. Pansy is still drinking."

Harry met her gaze unflinchingly and snorted. "Pansy has a husband to look after her," he said, nodded towards Ron. The redhead did indeed have a rather firm grip around his flailing wife's waist.

"Thankfully, I've no such chains."

Frown deepening, Harry held her by the bicep and snapped, "Stop it, Hermione." He sighed and then lowered his voice, fingers loosening slightly. "I don't care what you do in your free time, but don't make a fool of yourself. Not in front of your friends. Not in front of the people who really care about you." Harry paused. "I care about you."

He handed her the empty glass then.

She stared at it, biting her lip. His words sobered her slightly. "Do you ever think we made a mistake?" Her voice was quiet, barely audible. By the way he stiffened, she knew he heard her. Harry glanced away, and she wondered how best friends turned lovers turned _ex-lovers_ turned best friends were supposed to have a normal, functional relationship.

She heard a cough from somewhere behind her. "Hey." Malfoy's voice carried a hint of emotion that made Hermione wonder if he felt bad for interrupting. His face let her know he definitely felt uncomfortable in the middle of their conversation. They both turned slowly. The blond man awkwardly scratched at his neck. "I got the mallow-things Pansy wanted."

Hermione slowly lifted her glass to her lips and went to drink, then realized it was empty. She glanced down at it, stuck between these two warring men. She was saved by George's cry of, "Yes! Marshmallows!" As he surged past her to grab Malfoy's grocery bag, Hermione slid to the side. "Just in time for a fire."

In the end, it was just the two of them left standing in the silent kitchen as everyone followed George outside. The only sound was the ticking grandfather clock from the living room. The air was thick and uncomfortably hot.

As she shifted on her feet, her stomach lurched discomfortingly. "I'm going to go pee," Hermione announced finally, turning to leave. She walked past him as swiftly as she could on her graceless legs and did not look over her shoulder to see Malfoy's expression.

**

* * *

**

He was no longer there when she emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, feeling slightly better now that she had purged herself. Her head was woozy and her legs did not properly work, but her mind was slightly clearer. Through the window, she could see him in the backyard, watching Blaise and George. The two men were lighting off what looked like bottle rockets, but Hermione knew they were some new Weasley product. When they exploded, they showered the air with a little rainbow shower, each emitting a unique shriek—whether wedding bells, dog barks, car horns, or a bird's chirp. She could have sworn she had also heard a wind chime and a foghorn.

The rest of their little party was clustered around a great, roaring fire. The fire shimmered with magic, ranging from different colours, not unlike the bottle rockets. But these colours were on a loop, passing through a procession before starting all over. She must have been intrigued, because as she walked outside, she called out to George.

"Don't ask me, it's one Fred came up with," he said with slight awe to his voice. "I hired a chemist to tweak the minor details. Fred was always better with that type of stuff. Call it "Fred-ly Fire."

Hermione choked on her laughter. "It's gorgeous, George."

Speaking was no problem. But however sober she was beginning to feel, her legs still did not wish to obey. She approached the side of the fire furthest from Ginny, whose expression was still sour. She did not realize how little control she had over her body until she had accidentally jammed her knees into Malfoy's back and clamped a hand on his shoulder to keep from falling over.

She expected him to say something scathing, but he merely placed his hand over hers on his shoulder. "You look like somebody put a Jelly-Legs curse on you, Granger. Need some help?"

"I do not," she said, but clasped her hand around his as he tugged her toward a chair at his side. Plopping into the seat, Hermione pursed her lips suspiciously, but he avoided her gaze, continuing to sip at his beer.

Hermione frowned. "You're being awfully nice," she mused, gaze as probing as she could manage while drunk. "No more insults, no more misguided assumptions, rude accusations..."

He glanced sidelong at her before returning his eyes to the morphing fire. "No, Granger," he said eventually, in his quiet voice. "None at all."

"I'm waiting for the sarcasm."

"No sarcasm."

She scoffed. "I can't believe that. You can't speak to me without sarcasm."

"Maybe I just choose not to." Her lip curved as she rolled her eyes, slouching in her seat. Something cold tapped her knee, and she glanced up to see Malfoy offering her a bottle of water. "Uhm, thanks." She accepted the bottle and then realized what it meant. "I'm not sick."

"You were."

"I had to _pee_," she protested under her breath, glancing to make sure no one heard him.

Malfoy gave her a withering look. "I have ears, Granger. You let Pansy influence you too much."

She was going to tear her hair out. No... she was going to tear _his_ hair out. Tear out his hair and scream, long and loud and hopefully shatter his eardrums. The man was infuriating, and something about Malfoy just made her want to argue. He intentionally tried to irritate and fluster her, but she wasn't going to let him this time. If she ignored him, eventually he would grow bored and ignore her instead. In her frustration, she merely seethed silently, sipping her water as she watched George bring out another new toy.

"We've got one with snakes and serpent things, and then one with birds," he said as he lit the wick. The box burst into flames, showering the surrounding beach with gold and silver shimmers. After a few minutes, gold and silver firebirds burst forth from the center of the flames, flying into the sky before burning out with a soft sizzling sound. "Haven't thought of a name for it though."

Ginny laughed and turned to Pansy. "Are you going to jump into the ocean with me at midnight? We have—" she looked down at her watch, "—five minutes."

Pansy made an amusedly confused face—because she was still rather drunk and every expression she made was incredibly exaggerated—and shook her head. "I have to stay here, with my man." She clamped her hand down hard on Ron's thigh. "You can't jump into the ocean, you have to kiss Harry, or else you'll have bad relationship luck."

Hermione giggled and nearly choked on her water. Everyone attempted to ignore her sputtering, though Malfoy gave a little chuckle and patted her back lightly. "Everybody has to kiss at midnight. It's tradition. George and Luna are going to kiss," Pansy continued, giving them a hard stare. "Hermione, you can kiss George too. Draco and Blaise can share their love."

"Hey! No bloody way I'm kissing Malfoy!"

Grinning, Pansy replied, "Then the both of you can kiss Hermione."

Hermione stuck out her tongue. "I'm drunk, not stupid."

Blaise sidled around the fire to kneel in the space between hers and Malfoy's chairs. "Hey, buuuddy." Hermione laughed and pushed him hard on the shoulder so he fell onto his butt in the sand. It drew a laugh from everyone, even Malfoy. Hermione just grinned. Blaise whined and glanced up at Ginny. "I'll jump into the ocean with you, love."

She grinned down at him. Harry grabbed Ginny's arm to glance at her watch. "You better start running; you've got 45 seconds left." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, waving it in the air. An old-fashioned clock with large hands hung in the air above their heads, loud clicks counting down the last seconds to midnight.

Ginny grabbed his face and kissed him roughly, smiling broadly before dashing towards the surf. Blaise scrambled to his feet, kicking sand in his wake as he tore after her. Hermione smiled at their immaturity, but almost ached to join them. With a great _whoosh_, the wick in George's hand ignited and he let it go, grabbing Luna around the waist to pull her close. As Hermione watched Pansy snuggle into Ron's lap, she was painfully aware of her heart, thudding along in her chest. She wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned forward to smile at Harry as the rest of their group counted down the few, final seconds. Over the fire, Harry blew her kiss.

Before she heard the last click, something soft brushed her face, and she turned instinctively towards the touch. The look on Malfoy's face was not exactly happy, but it was not angry either.

Subconsciously, she was aware that she could see Blaise and Ginny clutching at each other, soaked and shivering in the water as they laughed, trying to tumble back to shore. He murmured a quick, "Happy New Year, Granger," before sliding his hand along the curve of her jaw and into her hairline at the back of her neck. As the clock struck midnight, George's firework shot into the air, raining so much shimmering and glittering silver and gold that she momentarily was blinded, and the people in the ocean over his shoulder were gone from her sight.

His lips brushed against hers.

* * *

_to be continued.._


	3. January 1st

**Title:** Solipsism.  
**Author/Artist:** Hiko Mokushi / **plural_entity**.  
**Rating:** R.  
**Warnings:** Language, drinking, sexuality. EWE, obviously.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Portions of the House described actually correlate to the layout of a home I've stayed at on Lake Erie, Ohio, called "The Rock of Ages."  
**Summary:** She hadn't thought of it this way. Harry's words took on a completely new meaning. Malfoy was both wrong and right, though she'd never admit it. She was self-absorbed. She wanted to be happy so bad that she begrudged everyone else their happiness because she hadn't found it. But in the end, weren't all of them just as self-absorbed? Weren't they all willing to risk each other's happiness, for the sake maintaining their own? _Written for the 2009-2010 **dmhgficexchange**._

**Notes:** I almost considered changing the name of this piece to "Murphy's Law," because that's sure as hell what happened. Everything that could go wrong, did. Thanks so much to the mods for dealing with all my problems every single time I had to ask for "like two more days." Thanks to my friend Domenic for reading this over when both of my betas seemingly bailed on me. **somandalicious**, I hope it's everything you wanted and so sorry for the lateness. This jumped from PG-13 to R without me really thinking about it..

**

* * *

**

**January 1st.**

Her arms shook and Hermione gripped the porcelain sink as though her world were turning on its head.

It was, in fact. It was also the second time that day she had taken to the downstairs bathroom for haven. She was beginning to feel a sort of connection to the place. It was the closest room with a lock on the door, and she could hear if anyone was coming. Everyone would know she was inside, but at least they couldn't get in.

When Hermione glanced up into the mirror above the sink, she hardly recognized the girl she saw looking back at her. Sleepless, red eyes wide, wild, hair mussed and askew. The skin visible on her neck and chest was a blotchy, almost sickly ashen colour, as if she had a fever or hives. Her stress level had risen so drastically she was physically breaking out in response. Slowly, she lifted a shaky hand to her lips and imagined the pressure of her fingertips replaced by lips, and then glanced away ashamedly.

It should not have happened.

She could not believe it _had_ happened.

The man had harassed her since childhood, called her every foul word and cruel name in the book—both Muggle and Wizarding. He had made portions of her years at Hogwarts some of the most miserable times in her life and, unlike Pansy, he had never apologized. He hated her as much as physically possible while still pretending to be apathetic. The very idea that he had touched her with anything stronger than a faint prod was unimaginable, unthinkable. Malfoys did not dirty their hands.

Hermione walked until her back touched the wall and then slid to the floor, cradling her face in her hands. _And I kissed him back..._ She could only pray no one else had noticed, or she would never live it down.

Malfoy had fazed her the previous evening with his untoward curiosity and needless, unfounded, accusations, but it had obviously not been enough to satiate his greedy, cruel heart. He had discovered a new means of torture, of humiliation. Maybe it had been his plan all along. Act like a complete and total ass, and then try to sidle into her good graces by being genial, before completely attempting to break her. She had experienced plenty of platonic kisses in her life, from drunken mishaps to on-the-cheek blessings. Blaise always kissed her goodnight when drunk, Viktor used to kiss her on the forehead in greeting; Ron had kissed her on his wedding night and thanked her for cheating on him.

Swiping at tear tracks on her face, Hermione lifted her headlong enough to blow her nose obscenely with toilet paper. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her face into the space between her knees. She was a fool. Nothing good could come from Britain—she should have stayed in America. Hermione licked at her lips and tasted Malfoy's beer lingering in the corner of her mouth. Tears pooled unhindered.

"Hermione, sweetie?" There was a light knock and Hermione furiously at her face with the back of her hand, using her sweater to clean the moisture. "Honey, are you alright? You've been in there for a good hour now…"

"Pansy, go away."

The witch sighed on the other side of the door and shifted, a slight creak announcing she now leaned against the door. "Hon, come on," the witch said comfortingly, using a voice Hermione had last heard when she and Harry had broken up. Or broken _off_ whatever that thing was. "I don't know what happened, but whatever Malfoy did, I'm sorry. I know it was his fault and I promise, I will punch him full in the face for whatever he did."

Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her knees again. "Pans, I don't want to talk," she moaned, voiced slightly muffled. She sniffled and wiped at her nose with her finger. "Please, just go away."

A huff. "Fine. You leave me no choice." There was some shuffling. _"Alohomora."_

The door swung open and Pansy tumbled inside, stumbling into the wall, where she braced herself. Hermione placed her chin against her right knee, peered at the woman blankly, an eyebrow raised. Pansy shook her head and held up a single manicured finger.

"I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid," she said, echoing Hermione's words. "Locked doors don't work against wands, hon. Now why don't you just tell me what happened and then once I tell you how stupid you are acting, I'll leave you to yourself, hmmm? You only gave me bad luck for the rest of the year, running into the house like that. Harry was supposed to be the first to cross the threshold—he's the tall, dark-haired one. Women are not supposed to be the first one to walk into a house after New Year's. They are almost as bad as blondes and red-heads. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt if you'll just tell me what's wrong."

"That's sure to make me feel better, Pans, thank you so very much for your support, you brainless cow," Hermione snapped, tugging her arm out of reach when Pansy finally made it to her side. The darker-haired woman glowered. "Just leave me alone."

Pansy recoiled as if she had been slapped in the face. Her brow pinched together and her lips pursed in a tight frown as she stood on wobbly legs. "I'm going to pretend you're still drunk, Granger," she said eventually, after a few minutes of staring down at the brown-haired woman—who refused to meet her eyes. "And we're going to forget that was ever said. However, do not expect me to come running to your defense again. In the mean time, if you're going to mope, go to your room; this is a public toilet."

With some effort, Hermione unfurled her limbs, rose, and stood, her feet a little surer than she had previously thought. Her head was a little clearer than she previously thought as well; it was just her hormones that were out of whack.

With the way Pansy avoided her eyes, she was sure that she would feel bad for her comment in the morning. But right now, she was too high-strung to care. Nobody ever seemed to mind making fun of her or calling her names. Nobody ever seemed to question if she wanted rude and ignorant people like Ginny or Malfoy around. Why should she go so out of her way to appease and accommodate everyone else, when they did not make the same effort for her? Hermione pushed off the sink, and she walked out of the bathroom, she slammed the door behind her; separating herself from Pansy, and hopefully, all of her slowly growing regrets. Ginny, Harry, and Ron were on the couch in the room to her left. Luna and George sat at a bench in front of her, their heads slightly angled towards each other. Everyone was suspiciously silent until she heard a grunt come from her right.

Malfoy was helping Blaise up the stairs, something the black man seemed to be protesting.

"Hermione!" he slurred over his shoulder, waving his hand at her. Malfoy glanced back at her, face blank, before turning back to his task. "Tell Malfoy that you don't hate him."

She glanced around, but everyone seemed to be avoiding her eyes, and eventually she slid past them in her rush to get to her room—determined not to touch Malfoy in the process. "My name's George Washington now, Blaise." Her feet thudded loudly against the stairs, almost as loudly as her blood in her ears, and for some reason, the noise sounded like defeat. She was running away; of course, it was defeat.

From behind her, she heard Blaise ask, "Who the fuck is George Washington?"

"First American President, Blaise," Malfoy answered in his same quiet, emotionless voice. ""I cannot tell a lie"."

Hermione lowered her head and hoped her hair hid the shamed look on her face, hurrying her feet, but not before she heard Blaise make a small sound of recognition. In a voice that sounded far from drunk, he answered, "Oh. Sorry, mate." Her door slammed behind her.

**

* * *

**

"Hermione, can we talk?"

The woman sighed but didn't glance at him, closing her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want." He settled near her feet, facing away from the ocean, back braced against the railing. "What time is it?"

She had been laying out on the balcony attached to her room, staring up at the star-filled sky and listening to the sound the ocean made against the shore. She wasn't sure what time it was now, but as it had been nearly one o'clock when she'd come into her room, she knew it had to be at least three. Some time ago, Malfoy had gone out and sat on the beach alone—he was still there. In an attempt to avoid him, she had laid down and hoped he couldn't see her. Something was gnawing at her chest, and she wasn't sure if it was guilt or remorse. The difference between the two emotions was the width of a Quidditch field, she'd found. Guilt, if she had done something nobody deserved. Remorse, if she had done something they had.

"A little past three."

She hummed in thanks, and he fell silent.

They sat that way for a good ten minutes, Hermione aware only of the shifting sound of the beach and the way the water _thunked_ gently when Malfoy tossed in a rather large piece of driftwood or a seashell. She had noticed earlier that the blond had merely sat in the sand all night, throwing things into the sea. When Hermione was sure that their breathing patterns were coalescing, she spoke.

"Did you actually want to talk, Harry, or are you just going to sit there and do breathing exercises with me?"

She caught the smile out of the corner of her eye, aware of it only because his teeth reflected a bit of moonlight or starlight. Though she had tried, she couldn't keep the corner of her lip from turning up as well. He was wearing the scarf she had knitted him the Christmas they had been together. It was a little redder than the Gryffindor burgundy, but he had sworn he'd liked it. It made something inside her clench to see that he still had it, she was so sure Ginny would had lit it on fire.

"I thought we were bonding," he said quietly, his voice a hushed whisper. She was not sure if he whispered because she had or because he had noticed Malfoy's silent vigil. She chuckled, but did not reply. He fell silent as well, and they resumed their own sort of vigil.

When she was sure he had fallen asleep though, he started and touched the place on her body closest to him. He brushed his fingertips along her knee in a soothing pattern, rubbing slightly before murmuring, "I saw the kiss, Hermione. You don't have to pretend why you're upset."

"I'm not upset," she protested weakly.

"I know you like the back of my hand, 'Mione," he said, cracking a grin again. "You're upset. But are you upset because he kissed you, or upset because you kissed him back?"

Something in his voice made her want to cry again and if there was anything, she wanted to avoid right then, it was crying. "I don't know."

"I spoke with Blaise," he continued as though she never answered his question. "He said Malfoy agreed to come only after he'd heard you would be coming. I think he's developed a bit of a crush on you."

There was another _thunk_ in the water. If Malfoy heard them, he wasn't acknowledging it. Hermione laughed harshly, all exhaustion and duress expelled with air. "That's funny, Harry. Malfoy. A crush. Me. That's really funny. Bloody hilarious. You want to tell me that one again; I think I nearly split my side for laughing."

"I'm not joking." Harry frowned. His face was so shadowed, she could barely tell, but there were other things to give away when she watched him. Harry was one of those few people that you couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling when you looked in his eyes or at his face. But his body language spoke wonders. Right then, she could tell he was disappointed by the slump of his shoulders, and it was because of her, because he'd retracted his touch from her knee. She could feel the tension next to her, but she wasn't sure if was anger or if he was just tired. "It's always been the two of you getting left behind. Did you ever think that was what happened because you two are meant to be together? Or at least, meant to try?"

"Harry, if you're here to convince me to ask out Malfoy, you're shit out of luck."

Hermione glared at him, angry. She was sick of everyone butting into her life as if they had a right to tell her what to do. First Malfoy, then Pansy, now Harry. If she had any more people telling her how she felt, she'd need to institutionalize herself. At least then, she would be getting advice from someone qualified.

Harry grunted in frustration. "You're too goddamn stubborn for your own good."

"I learned from the best." She reached for him, attempting to lighten the mood that was killing her inside. She could deal with everyone else hating her, but if she lost Harry too, she'd have nothing to live for. He was having none of her joking though and squirmed away from her fingers. She still and went quiet, hand dropping to her side.

"It's just a road block, Hermione," he breathed eventually. His hand slid along the balcony toward hers. She turned her hand over but only their fingertips touched as she opened her eyes to look at him again. "A small impasse. It's like..." He struggled for words, shoulders hunching forward before relaxing as he rested the back of his head against the railing and turned his eyes skyward. "It's like we're all a car."

Hermione raised an eyebrow but chuckled as she asked, "A car?"

Harry nodded slightly. "Yeah, a car. And every relationship we have is like a road. Well, the other person is the road. All those little pot holes and turns and ice patches are the rough spots in those relationships. Sometimes your car gets broken, like a flat tire. But you spend time fixing it and eventually, you can ride back down that road as though it never happened—though your wallet may be a little lighter." Hermione smiled as he paused to take a breath. "And sometimes, you have to take a detour, and you end up on another road."

Hermione shook her head. "You didn't really just make a relationship metaphor with driving, did you?"

"Yeah, I did. And it's a pretty damn good one," insisted Harry with a dry laugh. "Those detours are different relationships. You were on a Relationship Road with Ron, and then you took a detour and wound up on my road."

"Did we make a mistake?" A tear leaked out of her one eye and down her cheek, but the other only welled uncontrollably. "Did I make a mistake? Should I have stayed with Ron or with you, or with Donovan? How do I know if I'm on the right road?"

"Haven't you been paying attention, Hermione?" Harry's shadowy head shook back and forth, as she turned her eyes back to the sky, trying to will the tears away for the third time that evening. "There are no mistakes... Only setbacks. _Detours_. You and Ron weren't right for each other, so for you, his road was condemned. But for Pansy, it was a golden highway, leading her home. Don't laugh at me, I'm still a little drunk. However, I was that detour for you, getting you away from a bad road. It was the same for me—only Ginny's road was temporarily shut down. Like being under construction."

He leaned down to look her in the eyes and smoothed the tear from her cheek. "We were just pit stops for each other, basically. You've got to find the road that's going to lead you home."

She sniffled. "You couldn't have thought of something a little more romantic? A little more sentimental. We're on a beach, maybe something about the ocean and the sea, and there being lots and lots of fish in it? You had to use cars?" She laughed at the absurdity of it all. Discussing romance with her ex-lover, who cheated on her with the woman that she had convinced him to cheat on in the beginning.

"A car is a metaphor for a penis, Hermione."

His voice was so serious she couldn't help laughing harder. Her chest ached from it all, and she was sure that she didn't stop now, she'd end up crying again. Harry laughed with her, the tips of his fingers curling with hers as she rolled onto her side, trying to breathe. "But speaking of my penis, I have to piss. Will you excuse me?"

Hermione laughed and nodded.

Harry kneeled next to her head and kissed her forehead, smiling sweetly at her. He untangled the scarf from around his neck and looped it under hers, tying it loosely like a bow. "It's okay to be selfish sometimes, Hermione. We're all selfish when it comes to our own emotions. Sometimes, it's the only way to keep us from getting hurt." He let go of her hand and stood. "I'll see you in the morning."

Even after he was gone, she continued to lay there on her side, facing the ocean. The sky had yet to lighten, but she was sure that it was getting late—or early.

The quiet thuds had stopped some time during her talk with Harry and from what she could see, Malfoy was no longer on the beach. She played with the fraying end of the scarf between her fingers as she repeated her best friend's words in her head.

Damn it to hell, Malfoy was right.

Well, he was half-right. She hadn't thought of it this way. Harry's words took on a completely new meaning. Malfoy was both wrong and right, though she'd never admit it to anyone's face. She was self-absorbed. She was selfish. She wanted to be happy so bad that she begrudged everyone else their happiness because she hadn't found it. But in the end, weren't all of them just as self-absorbed? Weren't they all willing to risk each other's happiness, for the sake maintaining their own? Harry had hit the nail on the head. It was _okay_ to be selfish sometimes.

She should apologize, she realized. The thought burned in her. He had never apologized to her. _I'm supposed to be the bigger person_.

Slowly getting to her feet, Hermione found the haze from earlier had all but disappeared. A headache lingered in its trace, and she was sure that tomorrow morning she would wish Pansy wasn't so convincing, but...

_Pansy._

Hermione halted before leaving the room, hand on the doorknob, and lowered her head. Pansy was sure to ride her hard in the following days, knowing how she was. Her guilt-trips were legendary and so was Hermione's ability to be guilted. True, she had a right to be angry. Knowing what she had said, Hermione's stomach clenched anxiously, and as she walked out of her room, she made a promise to herself to make it up to the dark-haired witch. It was the least that she could do, after all, but...

_Does someone have a radio on?_ she asked herself, distracted from her thoughts.

She walked down the house's back steps slowly, placing her feet specifically in hopes to avoid any squeaking or creaking. She had never been very good at sneaking, but the house seemed to be with her on this one and obeyed her wish. The music was faint and soft, vaguely than familiar, but generally unrecognizable. Whether it was a piece she'd heard before or just something similar, she was not sure. Hermione turned the corner and walked through the kitchen, continuing towards the music's source.

"Evening, Granger," Malfoy said before she even turned the corner, not bothering to look up from his place at the piano. He merely slowed his fingers slightly.

Hermione took a breath and shifted on her feet, pausing a good distance from him. It felt natural, to keep the space between them. Everything about him exclaimed _dangerous_ and the space was her defense mechanism, though it made no sense. He could not hurt her physically. She had already been picked apart once this week. "I know that sitting in the dark is a Slytherin thing, but is that some sort of trick they teach you? Knowing when someone is sneaking around?" she asked eventually, when he said nothing to fill the silence.

He smirked and lifted left hand over right to play higher up on the piano. "No, you're just loud." The higher-pitched notes twinkled lightly between them.

"I didn't know you played," she stuttered despite herself, a dull flush on her face. Obviously, she still was not good at being sneaky.

"I dabble," he said simply, glancing up as he shrugged his shoulders slow. His fingers maneuvered over a particularly difficult section. When he missed a note, he made a face that wasn't exactly a grimace. He looked back up at her finally. "All good pure-blood boys must be well-rounded. Mother insisted." This time, his notes were perfect.

"Hmm," she hummed, nodding her head once, daring to walk closer. She stood at the far-end of the piano from him, keeping the instrument as a wall between them. Her hands traveled along the smooth surface, staring into the black top. "I figured it was something like that. Blaise plays the violin."

Malfoy corrected her, "He tries. Mother tried to make me play as well."

"She didn't manage?"

He shook his head, but held her gaze as he played. "I smashed it my ninth birthday."

Hermione blinked. "Why?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Father played. The piano is normally reserved for girls." He glanced away, hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his face. His fingers played a faster melody now, still pretty, but more bass than treble.

Hermione herself played piano, but not well. A few nursery rhymes and the theme song to her favorite childhood cartoon was all she could manage, though even those she couldn't play well. Like most children, it had been a fad, and her mother had never forced her to continue when her interests changed and amusement faded. What Malfoy played wasn't Beethoven-genius, but it wasn't i_Chopsticks_./i He was certainly better than she played, which had been her main reason in halting her lessons and selling back her books. Her father played, so the piano became a permanent fixture. Piano took skill. It was not something one merely learned. She could memorize all the scales and notes she wanted, but memorization would never grand her ability.

The silence hung in the air, nearly tangible. Head down, she shifted awkwardly, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she leaned on the piano. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head. "Look, I'm sor—"

"Doesn't matter," he interrupted, glancing up sharply. His hands slowed to a crawl on the keys but did not stop. "Forget about you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I said, forget about it."

She hung her mouth open, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply. Controlling her temper had never been her strong point. She was angry, she was hurt, she was frustrated—and it had taken her nearly forty minutes to convince herself to come downstairs and apologize. She'd convinced herself even to wake him up if she had to. It would be just her luck that Malfoy, lord of insolence and disrespect, would actually stop her from apologizing.

Hermione's mouth fluttered open and closed, but before she could find the right words to say, Malfoy had grabbed his wand, twirled it at the piano and stood. Without his hands, the piano carried on playing as he walked towards her. She almost backed away, but the look in his eyes froze her. She stared as he fixed what she was sure was his most charming smile and held his hand out to her.

She stared at it.

Malfoy exasperatingly wiggled his fingers.

_"What?"_

She could have sworn his silver eyes twinkled in the low light. "Dance with me."

"You're kidding." Hermione gave a closed-mouth laugh and picked at her nose absently, rubbing her lips together. When his posture didn't change, something just short of hysterical erupted from her mouth. "You're not kidding."

He rolled his eyes. "It's just a dance, Granger. Consider it your form of apology for slapping me earlier. You do know how to dance, right?"

"Of course I know how to dance!" she exclaimed in a half-whisper, instantly puffing up, but she had the sense to keep her voice down. She had slapped him silly and he didn't even have a mark. His pale face was still has handsome and nonplussed as always.

The last thing she needed was to draw attention to their little squabbles. Pansy had not noticed their little interaction—she refused to call it a kiss—but Harry had. While Harry would keep it to himself, none of the others would. And—was he _closer?_ He tore her from herself as he stepped within arm reach and tapped her shoulder. "People are going to think you've gone 'round the bend, love, you keep staring off into space like that." His slipped from charming into cocky as the corner of his lip rose in a smirk.

"Pet names don't suit you, Malfoy." She shoved at his chest while taking a step back. He grabbed her wrist while stepping with her.

"One dance," he pleaded softly, still smirking as his other hand pressed gently against the small of her back.

She was so going to protest, but her breath left her lungs, and the way he was looking at her was making her feel things she hadn't felt in a long time. Harry's words echoed in her, telling her to be selfish. Telling her that it had always been her and Malfoy left behind. Telling her that they had been a _roadblock_. He'd tell her to get back into the goddamn car and _drive_. Some deeply scared and pitiful part of her wanted to crawl into a hole and tell Harry she had never learned how to drive _stick-shift_. Hermione glanced up almost shyly, her mouth dry. "Keep your hands to yourself," she finally whispered and hoped that she sounded like she had some backbone.

Malfoy's smile widened. He walked around her, still holding her wrist and lead her. She felt like a toddler being politely manhandled, but bit her lip to keep from protesting when his hand rubbed gingerly at the inside of her wrist. He led her outside, onto the back deck. The piano music had faded until it was background noise; a gentle heartbeat she could hear—but barely.

He released her wrist only to grab both hands gently, lacing fingers with hers briefly, as he lifted them to his neck. He held them there until Hermione clasped her fingers. When he seemed sure that she wasn't going to let him go and bolt, he trailed his hands down her arms and sides, fixing his own clasped hands at the small of her back. After a moment's more pause, he led her in a sidestepping pattern, turning them slowly in a circle. "Is my hold to your liking?" he asked, leaning down to whisper to her ear.

She shivered. "It is satisfactory," was all she could manage and with some difficulty. Her tongue was cotton and glue.

"I seem to recall how to be a gentleman."

They were not close enough to touch, but she could feel him there. There was barely an inch between them, but enough space so that only the very edges of their clothes perhaps twitched against each other. His breath blew warm across her neck, and she suppressed a shiver that started at the top of her spine and traveled down her back. "I didn't know they taught that to Slytherins."

Hermione didn't look at him, but she was almost positive he rolled his eyes as he chuckled. "You'd be surprised."

She did not reply and suffered silently for a few minutes. She squeaked, however, a few minutes later as his head dipped close to her neck, so close that she could feel every time he exhaled. The piano music was so soft now it blended in with the quietly shifting surf until she could barely distinguish between the two. His nose ghosted along the side of her neck before it bumped lightly against the scarf she had forgotten was still around her neck—thankful now, because it covered most of the blush that covered her from head to toe. Malfoy's head tilted to the side, and she continued to let him lead her, stomach more bats than butterflies. When his nose brushed the sensitive skin beneath her ear, breath hot, she let go of his neck and pushed at him.

"You promised!" Her breathy voice had no resolve.

Malfoy chuckled as his hands left to her back to grab her wrists again with one hand. "My hands _are_ to myself," he insisted, eyes wide with mock innocence, and something in her died a little. She tried to back away, but she had been so distracted by the way his fingertips curled against her spine that she hadn't noticed he'd danced her into a corner. She could sense the deck railing behind her. He tugged her scarf out of its tie and it hung loosely about her neck. His free hand tickled her collarbone slightly.

He pressed closer, and her eyes shot to his. "Why are you doing this?"

"I figured it was worth a shot," he admitted, voice dropping an octave, but it was far from attractive. Something on the man's face crumbled and Hermione instantly felt guilt shoot through her. He was affecting her, but she couldn't bring herself to respond. Gryffindor Lion—that was a _joke_. She was nothing but a kitten. And she was moments from purring if he'd just stroke her right, which was what scared her. A snake wrapping around its victim in an attempt to hug instead of constrict.

Letting her wrists go, Malfoy dropped his hands to his side and took a step back. "Forget it," he whispered, head low, refusing to look at her. "Forget I said anything, I accept your apology."

She was seeing so much of him it hurt.

Her heart clenched and without thinking, Hermione stepped forward, lifted her chin and rose to her tiptoes, lips pressing lightly against the corner of his mouth. "I never got to apologize."

As she lowered back down, Malfoy followed her.

One hand slid around her to press her against him while the other lifted her chin with his index finger. She thought he would be fierce or harsh, something that reflected the hard lust she saw in his silver eyes when she met his gaze. But when his lips touched hers, it was soft and almost weightless. He sighed against her, hand smoothing back along her jaw. Her eyes slid shut, and he coaxed her mouth finally open with an insistent pattern: a few gentle kisses to the side of her mouth and lower lip before he gently sucked on it, then a full kiss. He made her ache—maybe he had always had this effect on her? She could not remember well at the moment, as she kissed him back. When she opened her mouth, and his tongue slid against hers, something clicked on—like someone lit a fire under her.

This time, she pressed closer, she licked the seam of his mouth before biting down gently on his lower lip. He groaned, hand sliding into her hair shortly before joining its partner at her hips. He lifted her effortlessly, barely breaking their kiss, to set her on the railing and step into the space between her legs.

Hermione leaned heavily down against him, one hand gripping the back of his neck as the other hung limp, draped across his back like a comfortable throw rug. One hand slid beneath her shirt, and she giggled when his fingers traced along her ribcage, tickling. He chuckled against her and she could feel the vibration against her own mouth. The laugh changed to a moan as she slanted her lips harder against his when he cupped her through cloth.

It wasn't until she heard the clasp snap open and her bra sagged that she froze, barely remembering to breath.

"We're outside," she whispered, lips brushing his.

Malfoy's hand trailed a path of fire down her spine, nails scratching softly enough that they weren't painful. "We could go inside."

He scared her, she realized, and she took in his mussed appearance. Aside from the hair she'd tousled and the flush to his cheeks, he looked completely normally. She was sure she looked a mess. It wasn't just him, though, it was herself as well. She was afraid of what he brought out of her. Something inside her told her not to stop.

"Help me down." She wrapped her arms around his neck as he hugged her to him, hurrying her inside.

She shut the door as he waved his wand at the piano. The music halted abruptly, and Hermione sensed that something in the mood died, but she couldn't back out now. She had gone this far, she had finish it. Maybe she could teach herself how to drive stick, but she couldn't back down. Not when they were standing on a cliff, and she would be as good as pushing him off. The couch was already made up; she had not realized it was a pullout. As she thought it out, she wondered if he had a condom. _A pullout for a pullout_.

Gently grabbing her face, Malfoy lifted her face and kissed her again.

Hermione lifted her arms and allowed him to remove her shirt before she began to work nervously at his belt, fumbling over the buckle with shaking fingers. He stilled her by taking her wrists and lifting them each to his mouth, kissing the pulse point.

"Calm down," he whispered, still holding her wrists as he pressed his lips against her cheek.

Hermione turned her face to meet them with her own. After a few tense minutes, stress leaked from her shoulders once more. His mouth was hot and his tongue caressed her with a practiced ease that made her jealous. She was acting like a bumbling fool, practically a blushing virgin. She slowly wrenched her wrists from his hands and returned them to their work, this time succeeding in sliding his belt from the loops. She popped the button and worked the zipper down as he slid her bra from her shoulders. Hermione tossed it to the side where she thought her shirt was as she slid her hands underneath his. He grabbed the bottom and twisted them up and over his head, his shirt following the rest of her clothes. The sound of her zipper was loud in her ears as she trailed her nails lightly down his chest and stomach, scratching at the small patch of hair beneath his navel.

Malfoy left her mouth and licked the spot he'd touched earlier with his nose, sucking the skin there before biting at her earlobe. She shuddered and clutched at him as he walked her backwards. When the back of her legs hit the pullout mattress, she let him guide her into a sitting position, then a supine one as he kneeled over her.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, causing her entire upper body to flush pink as his hands slowly slid her shorts down her legs. Her panties followed soon after. He kicked his own off, dipping his head between her breasts to lick the skin there, salty with sweat. She squirmed beneath him as her feet pushed their jeans off the bed.

Hermione gripped his head tightly between her fingers and tugged gently when he sucked hard on her left breast, rolling the nipple tenderly between his teeth until it pebbled under the flat of his tongue. When his fingers brushed against her, she gasped and pulled hard enough she would not have been surprised if she had pulled hair out. A finger curled inside of her, and she clenched her leg muscles, trying not to cry out.

It had been months since she had been touched, years since she had been handled as though she were porcelain.

"Wait." Something akin to tears stung at the corners of her clenched eyes as Malfoy paused, pulling away. "I have a condom."

Hermione surfaced when his hand retracted and lifted her head, trying to regain a simple breathing pattern. He tossed his jeans to the ground, played around with his wallet for a moment, before the small square fell out onto the mattress between her legs. It was endearing when he fumbled with the foil as much as she had with his belt, but he eventually managed to open the condom and slide it on. He was back almost too fast, but his hand made her forget her worries. He trailed his thumb hard against her clit as he kissed her, rubbing it in tiny circles. He covered her mouth with his other hand when she cried aloud.

_I can't!_ she thought suddenly as the pressure built, and Hermione tugged his hand away from her mouth to whisper breathlessly, "Malfoy, stop."

Malfoy glanced up at her, and his fingers stumbled, but he maintained a half-decent pace while meeting her eyes.

Tears flowed back to her unbidden. "I'm sorry, I can't. It's..." She tried to find the words that would make it right, make her not a horrible, miserable human being. "It's too soon. I'm sorry, _I'm so sorry._ I just can't."

Malfoy licked his lips and kissed her, pressed his thumb harder and added a second finger.

Lights went off behind Hermione's eyes as she clamped them shut, biting her lip to keep from screaming. She climaxed as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, thumb gently rubbing the nub. His fingers stilled when she stopped shuddering and he wiped his hand off on his boxers before kissing her. She cried harder.

"It's okay." He kissed her eyelids and clutched her to him, rolling to the side to pull her halfway onto him.

She sobbed into his shoulder, though no sound came out. He let her.

Malfoy rubbed his hands along her bare back, smoothing hair out of her face and pressing kisses to her temple. When her cries subsided into occasional sniffles, he smiled almost sweetly down at her. It would have been sweet if not for that curve to his lips.

"Do you always cry after coming?"

A tear leaked down Hermione's cheek and he wiped at it, chuckling. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled again, dropping her head onto his chest, her voice half muffled by his skin.

"Consider it my apology," he whispered back, kissing her forehead.

Hermione glanced down, and then back at him. "Do you need a minute?"

Malfoy shrugged, but his expression was a bit pained. "It'll go away on its own. Just don't move."

She sighed. "What are we doing?"

"We were going to fuck," said Malfoy crudely, though he had the decency to look chagrined when she frowned at him. "But now we're cuddling. If you let me get the blanket from under us and you turn over, we could spoon."

"I mean in general, Malfoy," Hermione snarled, grabbing his hair roughly. She shifted, however, and lifted the blanket up to slide almost gracefully underneath. He followed her once she let go of his hair. "Not this very second."

Malfoy chuckled and pulled her against him. "Right now, we're going to see where the road leads us. I just gave you the best orgasm of your life. Be a little appreciative that I'm okay with you being so selfish."

"We'll see where the road takes us?"

She sounded so uncertain, but he nodded almost hypnotically at her. She was so tired. She had been so tired for so long... Malfoy's hand tangled in her head at the base of her neck and held her against him as he closed his eyes, an almost-smile on his lips. Harry's words seemed a little too sweet for this perverse sort of exchange, but they worked. Sighing, Hermione laid her head down against his chest and spread her fingers across his stomach. He twitched beneath the blanket, and she almost grinned.

"What did I say about not moving?"

_finis._

* * *

**REQUEST**  
**Would you prefer an art or fic gift?:** Fic  
**Song, Poem, or Quote (title/original creator) (optional):** none.  
**Describe your ideal gift in as ****few**** words/keywords as possible (plus rating):** PG-13 - R. Snark. Scarlett Scarf. Banter. Superstitions. awkward situation. a really hot kiss. Crookshanks. These are just things I'd like to see in the fic, other than all of them, anything goes. exotic location.


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